Dancing With the Dead
by remonrime
Summary: Kenny has been messing with some serious stuff and when he dies again, this time he doesn't come back alive -- he comes back as the living dead, a walking corpse: a zombie. And Butters is just pulled along for the ride. zombie!Bunny. Rated for kink.
1. As if they care

**A/N: I've been playing Call of Duty Nazi Zombies for the past several days and this shit crapped out my ass.**

**It makes perfect sense though. Kenny dies a lot, so why not make him a zombie? Bear with me, the genre is horror but it's also**

**romance. I'm sorry for that. I find it kinky. D:**

* * *

**As if They Cared.**

I stared down listlessly at the patch of dead grass situated at the top of his grave, a bouquet of white lilies and vermilion roses bunched up within my hands. I pressed the flowers to my chest, a fresh wave of tears spouting forth from my eyes where they trailed down the length of my cheeks and pooled at the crevice of my collar bone. I rubbed at my eyes then, a few tear drops splashing down onto the flowers.

"Why doesn't anyone ever care?" I asked breathlessly, rubbing frantically at my eyes. The tears were increasing at a rather fast pace, raging down my face like a set of waterfalls. "T-they don't care that you're d-dead. They never care."

Tears still cascading down my cheeks, I dropped to the soggy earth beneath me, knees planting into the wet grass. It would have been nice if the grave had a marker or tombstone on it, but they hadn't bothered to trifle with one this time. I patted the ground, placing the bouquet of flowers where his head would be.

"These are for you, Kenny," I whispered, voice quivering. A few tears escaped, crashing to the earth at an alarming speed. I let them seep into the dampened ground, a shaking sob wracking my body as my shoulders hunched in on themselves. Kenny's deaths had been increasing as of late – his periods of life were growing shorter and any sane person would begin to wonder or worry over it, however you couldn't expect the residents of South Park to ever be concerned about anything that didn't affect them directly.

But I was.

I was worried, heck, I was always worried when Kenny died. This time, he hadn't even been alive for three days and bam – he was dead again. He had been crossing the train tracks on his route home, but his shoe had gotten caught between the metal beams. In the end, his right arm was severed and his chest was punctured, but thankfully he wasn't too bloodied or mangled. It was enough to allow an open casket at the funeral.

I shivered as a gust of wind raked through my pale blond hair, scratching at my neck as a reminder to start heading home. The funeral attendees had left hours ago, not bothering to pay their respects in a timely and appropriate fashion – some had even left while he was being buried.

"Whenever this happens, I worry about you," I said aloud, my voice watery and tangled in phlegm. "Sometimes I think you might not come back – that's what scares me."

With a tender stroke over the ground with my palm, I leaned back on the balls of my feet and lifted myself up while dusting off any tendrils of grass that had clung to the front of my black slacks. I adjusted my tie and looked down at the flowers, a watery smile consuming my lips.

"Till next time, Kenny."

* * *

Two days had passed since the funeral procession, and I still wasn't feeling too good. As each day drawled on, I constantly wondered when Kenny would return from the dead. Each and every minute that ticked by frightened me to no end. What if he didn't come back this time? What if he was dead for real? Tears stung at the corners of my eyes, desperate to be released, but I willed them back by blinking frantically.

"Hey Kenny, can I copy your homework?"

"Kenny's dead, fat-ass," I heard Kyle respond curtly. I picked my head up and silently glared at Cartman and his insincerity, draping my arms over my desk.

"Again? Well fuck," Cartman replied, a chuckle escaping him.

"You were at the viewing, 'tard," Kyle stated while scribbling something in his US History notebook.

"Must've forgotten then."

I furrowed my brow, burying my head into the reprieve of my arms. I could never understand why Kenny's closest friends didn't give a care if he died or not, I mean, I know Kenny died a lot but that still didn't give them the right to forget about him entirely. I really wished I had the courage to tell them so and stick up for myself and for Kenny's memory with the bravery that Kenny had. He was always doing what he wanted to do, adding his two-sense everywhere he could and getting himself into countless trouble. But that's what I admired about him: I admired the way he let himself be himself without others bringing him down or following the crowd, and that's why I felt he didn't deserve to die so much, and so gruesomely.

Plus, he gave really good advice. Sometimes I'd find myself sneaking over to him and away from the prying eyes of the general public, eager to spill my problems and willing to hear anything he had to say to me. I told him my surging hate for my father, the confusion over my sexuality and basically anything and everything I had left in me. In a way, he was like my own personal therapist who was always listening intently, even though he never looked it. From the naked eye, people thought he was a slacker, always whoring around from place to place never to go anywhere in life.

But I knew differently. He cared for the people he knew; he was resourceful, even if he lacked support from his environment and surroundings, and he was one heck of a listener. Basically, he did what he could, and for that, I was grateful.

At the end of the period, thankfully the last period of the day, I quickly shuffled my things into my book-bag and slung the strap over my shoulder, eager to exit the school. Today I was heading over to the cemetery to pay my respects to Kenny. Whenever he died, I would always waste no time in visiting him, because no one ever did. It always depressed me whenever I visited him to find that I was the only one who ever brought him flowers. When a person died, they deserved to be remembered right? But for Kenny, it wasn't like that.

He was forgotten.

* * *

"Hey there Kenny!" I chirped as brightly as I could given the circumstances. I ran the pads of my fingers over the wilting bouquet of flowers, enjoying the sound of the wrapping crinkling beneath my fingers. I furrowed a brow curiously when my eyes anchored on the patch of grass that was dead and dried the day of his funeral. For once, it was green and lush, which never, ever happened in  
all the years of Kenny's off and on life. Maybe one of the groundskeepers sprinkled some of that plant growth formula on it – I've seen it done before but to other graves, never Kenny's. I shrugged my shoulders, letting the thought pass.

"It was a boring day today," I began, situating myself on a patch of grass. I crossed my legs and brought my book-bag into my lap, fingering the strap. "We didn't do much, but Mr. Camble assigned us a research project. And guess what, we can work in partners!"

I laughed heartily, letting a small smile spread across my lips. I leaned in further, eyes and voice directed at the patch of grass that was miraculously greener than the grass surrounding it. I patted the mound fondly. "When you come back, we can work together."

The rest of my visit was spent filling him in on what he had missed during the past few days.

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**A/N: So, that's the start of it. Review, yeah? It'll make me pretty happy. :D**


	2. Partners

**A/N: Next chapter. **

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**Title: Dancing With the Dead**

**Genre: Horror/Romance**

**Rating: T (will go up later for gore and other stufffffff)**

**Summary: Kenny's life has been getting increasingly shorter. And then one day he dies again, much to the concern of Butters. However this time, Kenny doesn't come back alive. He comes back as the undead, a walking corpse -- a zombie. BUNNY. Told in Butter's POV.**

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**Partners.**

I walked along the curb, eyes anchored to the ground as I traced an invisible path home. Putting one foot in front of the other, I spread my arms to either side of me and started forth, losing my balance from time to time as I continued on. I smiled at my little game, my thought process trailing off into pictures of tight-rope walkers, circuses and funny little clowns. And after what seemed like 15 minutes, I finally looked up and frowned, my smile vanishing into thin air. I dropped my arms to my sides and stared up at my house propped next to a dozen other similar ones. The lights were on in every room except mine and a clawing feeling scratched its why into my chest. Sometimes, I hated coming home – I hated coming home to that guy. With a defeated sigh, I wrapped my fingers around the strap of my bag and began walking the paved pathway leading to the front of my home, each step spelling a morbid death sentence.

"I'm home," I breathed loudly as I opened the front door and stepped inside. An immediate rush of warm air fanned against my cheeks and trailed down the length of my neck; a welcoming sensation compared to the grating cold of the outside. I held my breath, balling my hands into fists as I pressed them to my sides and waited for the inevitable.

"Butters!"

Darn, so fast?

"I'm over here, sir," I replied loud enough for him to hear me. I heard him set something down, whether it was a bowl or cup or something I didn't care, and I listened to his heavy footsteps as he walked from the kitchen to where I stood. His strides were furious, meticulous at best, and I was starting to think if he had been sitting in the kitchen all day thinking up of ways to ground me. He stopped about three feet in front of me, his polished brown loafers tapping rhythmically at the ground. I looked up at him and winced, not surprised at the enraged expression twisted on his face. He then brought his hand up to my face and that's when I realized he was holding something between his thumb and index finger.

"Do you see this Butters?" He asked casually, his voice eerily calm.

I nodded slowly. His face contorted.

"Dammit Butters! Why was there a Fruit Loop in my milk?!" he practically shouted, thrusting a soggy milk-soaked loop at my face.

"Well, g-gee, I don't know!" I replied quickly, throwing my hands up in front of me, replicating a make-shift shield. "A-Aren't they supposed to be?!"

"No, Butters! No!!" he shouted, flicking the Fruit Loop from his fingers where it bounced and rolled away across the carpet. "When I opened the milk gallon today, I found that darn Fruit Loop floating around in it! That's it mister, you're grounded!!"

"B-but -- !"

"No buts, up to your room!"

I could feel the anger swelling inside me, festering and pooling at the very pit of my stomach until it felt like a bubbling brew of acid. Unfortunately, I was never able to act upon those feelings – I never had in the past 17 years of my life and I wasn't going to start now. I just wanted him to dish whatever punishment he had going for me, whether it was fair or not. My dad stopped being fair a long time ago.

"Yes, sir," I replied meekly, straightening my book-bag strap around my shoulder. My father put his hands to his hips, eyes narrowed on my retreating figure as I hurriedly made my way upstairs. I didn't want to deal with any of his crap right now, so in a weird way, I was thankful to be sent up to my room (no matter how childish the punishment was).

Once I made it to my door, I turned the knob and kicked the door open, immediately unwinding my bag from around my shoulder. I dropped it to the ground next to my miniature waste basket, a dull thud quaking across the bedroom floor. A sigh escaped me as I trudged over to my bed, where I threw myself into the tangle of aqua-colored bed sheets and navy blue comforters. I laughed briefly as a fleeting though crossed my mind. One time, scratch that, it was the only time Kenny had come over, he had commented on how big and fluffy my bed looked. He said that it looked more like a war-zone than a safe haven, and that if it so happened a retarded and pointless war sprung up in South Park, my bedroom would be the first thing he would go to – he said he would hide out in all my blankets. Of course, that was a couple of years ago when we were still in middle school, and such silly little fantasies and off-hand comments were the norm. He hadn't stepped foot inside my house since. How could he with my tyrannical dad practically breathing fire down the front door? It was a weird comparison, but I sometimes felt like a distressed princess locked all the way up in the tallest tower of some withered medieval castle, while an oppressive dragon guarded the outside fortress.

I folded my hands across the middle of my belly, eyes anchoring to the ceiling. Sometimes when I felt depressed or troubled, I'd stare up at the pale blue surface of the ceiling while I tried to count the pointed tips littered across it. I sometimes imagined that I was an ant up there, crawling my way across an expanse of blue-tipped mountains, never being able to find my way home. Sometimes I wished I could trade places with that lost ant, so I didn't _have_ to come back home.

"Loo, loo, loo. I miss you," I sang softly.

**

* * *

**

"Butters, do you have a partner yet?"

I looked up from the haven of my arms to my Biology teacher Mr. Camble who was standing behind his wooden podium at the front of the classroom. He was currently drinking a Diet Coke, guzzling it down past his abnormally long 'stache. It grossed me out a bit, but it wasn't something that would make me downright nauseous.

"Well, um, no. I don't have one yet, sir," I explained, almost biting my tongue at the way I addressed him. I guess some habits were hard to break. Mr. Camble placed his soda can on the desk behind him, turning towards me with a wince of his eye.

"You better hop to it then, this project counts for 40% of your grade, got that?" he stated, his tone reproachful. "I'm sure I can pair you up with someone right now if you'd like. Let me just get my role sheet -- ."

"No!" I bit out, realizing my sudden outburst was anything but soft and gentle. Several pairs of eyes turned at me, some students furrowing their brow and tilting their heads while they whispered scathing remarks under their breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bebe roll her eyes to Wendy while a devilish grin scrawled across her face – no doubt she was talking about me. I've lost count on how many times that girl teased me.

"I mean, I have one already, I'm just waiting!" I corrected politely while a faint blush tinted my cheeks.

"Oh, you have one then! Good, just tell me the name," Mr. Camble started, retrieving a list from his desk scribbled with all sorts of names. He grabbed a pencil from his shirt pocket and placed the lead tip to the paper, waiting for my response. My face flushed, the points of my ears tinting rouge.

"Well, you see. It's Kenny, sir," I breathed, placing my hands on my lap. I began tugging at one of my coat strings, all too eager to distract myself. I watched as Mr. Camble slowly looked up from his paper, his eyebrow arching curiously. I didn't have to look at him twice to know what he thought of me at that very instant, he either thought I was mentally retarded or horribly outdated on current events.

"Butters, you do know that Kenny's dead, right son?" he drawled out, earning a few giggles and curt snickers from the rest of the students. I could practically feel their beady eyes roaming my body, cheap smiles contorting their lips. Mr. Camble smiled himself, chuckling under his 'stache. "Best not wait for him, Butters. I'll give you another day to choose a partner, a live one this time. If you don't have one come next class, I'm going to have to randomly select one for you, okay?"

I nodded ashamedly at him, eyes falling to my lap. I felt like crying, really I did, because they had all laughed off Kenny's death as if it were nothing. Couldn't they understand that someone they had all known for practically all their lives just passed away, regardless of how many times he did it? I furrowed my brow, fingers gouging into the dense fabric of my jeans. What was wrong with these people?!

I jerked my head up and looked up at the clock situated on the farthest side of the room, eagerly watching its ticking arms with anticipation. I just needed one more minute to freedom, one more minute to escape this alarming place and throw myself willingly into the safe reprieve of the cemetery – ironic, yeah? Finally with a loud, shrill ring, the last bell of the day tolled its end and I immediately shot up from my seat, slung my bag around my arm and quickly hustled out the classroom.

Destination set, I exited the school campus and made route towards the graveyard.

* * *

I stood still in front of his grave, scanning skeptical eyes across the expanding mound of bright green grass covering Kenny's grave site like a thick, heavy carpet. Only three and a half days had passed since his funeral and already his grave was covered with healthy and vibrant blades of grass. Usually, all that ever covered him were weeds and patches of grass that looked dreadfully bleached of any color. Really, this was remarkable. Maybe I really _should_ pay the groundskeepers' a token of gratitude for their generous contributions. A smile flitted past my face as I took a seat next to his grave, swinging my book-bag in front of me where I plopped it into my lap.

"You better come back soon, or else I'll have to choose another partner," I said aloud, ruffling my fingers through the back ends of my hair that dangled against the nape of my neck. "Oh! I made something for you."

I quickly unlatched my book-bag and dug around in its contents, shuffling through random pieces of paper and digging past dozens of unused pencils. When I finally found what I was looking for, I wrapped my fingers around the sharp yet delicate edges of the item and plucked it out from my bag.

"We were making Origami during FST today," I began, a chirp to my voice. I held out the dollar-shaped Origami where it rested snugly into the palm of my hand. The Origami paper was dyed a vibrant jade green and on both sides of the paper I had quickly scribbled in a sketchy doodle of Kenny's likeness with the number five etched onto every corner. "I figured you'd need this when you get back. You can buy a Poptart or something."

I laughed to myself, setting the Origami-dollar at the top of his grave site. I leaned over and nestled it into a dense patch of grass, throwing a few bits of scattered leaves and fallen twigs over it so it wouldn't happen to blow away while I was gone. I patted the earth beneath me, rubbing my fingers through the slick blades of grass.

"I wish you were here, Kenny."

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**A/N: The dead will walk next chapter. Review?**


	3. Covert Meeting

**A/N: I lied. No zombie yet. Yet.**

* * *

**Title: Dancing With the Dead**

**Genre: Horror/Romance**

**Rating: T (will go up later for gore and other stufffffff)**

**Summary: Butters notices that Kenny's life has been getting increasingly shorter. And then one day he dies again. However this time, Kenny doesn't come back alive. He comes back as the undead, a walking corpse -- a zombie. zombie!Kenny x Butters**

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Covert Meeting.  
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It had been officially four days since Kenny's funeral and I was still shifting my eyes round every corner, hoping to somehow spot a messy heap of golden hair – it never happened I can tell you that. I knew I was torturing myself and raising my hopes up like no other, but I couldn't help it. Was it really so bad to care for the well-being of someone else, regardless if they were dead?

"Why the fuck does he get like that all the time?"

"I don't know, he gets all emo whenever Kenny dies, pansy-ass."

They were talking about me, I knew it, but I didn't have the heart or courage to prance over to them and tell them what for. With a brief glance to the side, I watched Craig and Clyde converse to each other sporadically, their gazes sometimes wandering towards me while they stifled their snickers behind their hands. I knew that they knew I was listening to them, but that's what entertained them and kept them at it for however long they wanted. They didn't give a damn about how I felt.

"Hey, Butters."

I looked up at the looming shadow hovering over me, staring up into the grinning and pierced face of Mike McCalsky. He had never really gotten rid of the whole vampire image since elementary school and stuck with a similar hair style to what he had then, but it was more messier and jagged than what I could remember, and a lot more colorful. Thankfully, he had ditched the fake vampire fangs and clipped the goofy-sounding name back in middle school, although how he even made it that far looking and acting like he had, I had no clue.

"H-hey Mike," I replied hesitantly, watching as his grin snaked into a suspicious looking smirk. His white teeth glittered pristinely and his black-lined eyes narrowed into harrowing slits.

"Per se," he began, twisting a pale finger through the feather-fine tips of his hair. Did I forget to mention that he still said "per se" in almost every sentence? "Hey, can you give this to Kenny when he comes back?"

Mike stretched out his arm and motioned for me to do the same. There was something hanging from a beaded string, his fingers draped over the center object in his hand. I opened my palm and he placed what appeared to be a necklace in my hand, ghosting his black-painted fingernails over it before retracting his hand.

"What is this?" I asked quietly, examining the necklace. I turned the necklace over in my hands, letting the beaded string course in and out between my fingers. The necklace looked more like an amulet than a regular necklace, for the circular object hanging from it was rather large and the detail too intricate to point out. I leaned in when I finally noticed the design on the pendant, scanning my eyes over what appeared to be an intricate star-shape set within a molded metal circle. Funny, the star kind of looked like it had a face embellished in the center.

"Is it a bear or something?" I asked Mike, raising the amulet to my face for closer inspection. It looked like some sort of animal, a deranged looking one – and then I stilled. I let the necklace crash to my desk while I threw my hands in the air, settling my disbelieving gaze at a raunchy looking Mike who stood with his hands behind his back.

"You look startled," Mike cooed, rocking back on his heels. He flipped his hair to the side, his smile lengthening.

"Is that a goat's head?!" I hissed at him, trying to keep as quiet as I possibly could. I didn't want anyone else hearing out on this – I didn't need the attention right now. "Is this what I think it is?"

Mike leaned in closely, his nose hovering inches from mine. "Keep it low. At the end of the period, meet me in the bathroom next to Mrs. Davis' room. For now, put that shit in your pocket."

Like heck it was going in my pocket. I gulped down a wad of saliva that had been welling in my mouth while listening to him, my throat slightly stinging at the pressure. I watched as Mike licked his lips hungrily for a second before he whipped himself around and stalked back to his desk, taking his seat as casually as any other person would. Back to the matter at hand, I trailed fearful eyes over the goat-star-thing or whatever the hell you called it, that lay on my desk, its beaded necklace nearly trailing over the edge. I frantically ripped out a sheet of notebook paper and smothered it over the pendant where I then scooped it unceremoniously into the depths of my book-bag. If it's what I thought it was, I wasn't even going to try to touch it.

Somehow, I couldn't wait for the period to be over.

* * *

With book-bag hitched over my arm, I stealthily walked down the building's corridor, rushing past student's eagerly trying to get to their desired lunch-time hangouts. Not me though, I was on a mission to the bathroom.

Finally standing in front of the desired deserted rest room, for no student would be caught dead in this part of the campus, I pushed open the splintered door and briskly walked inside. Mike was standing at the opposite end of the bathroom, a cigarette dangling between his lips and wisps of smoke clouding about him like spidery tendrils. His hands were crossed over his chest and his back was pressed to the wall, making him look horribly bored.

"Hm?" He started, pulling his cigarette from his mouth. He puffed out a dense cloud of smoke before crushing the tip of his cig to the wall, snuffing out the fuel. He threw the cigarette to the floor where it splashed into a puddle of unknown fluid.

"W-well, I'm here," I began, body starting to tremble. I reached into my open book-bag and retrieved the pendant wrapped in notebook paper. I laid it out flat on my palm and extracted my arm, nearly shoving the thing into his chest. "I-I want to know why you had this, and why you were giving it to . . . to Kenny."

"Well don't you come on strongly?" he spat sarcastically, stuffing his hands into the folds of his sweater pockets. He smiled then, a toothy, briny smile. "Alright, I'll tell you what I know, since you seem to care so much."

I swallowed instinctively, clutching the paper-wrapped pendent still in my hand. I then nodded at him, motioning him to continue.

"I got it from the Goth kids," he continued, pressing the back of his head to the wall.

"I thought the Goths hated you," I stated, somewhat lost. Why would the Goths even consort with Mike, from what I knew they hated non-conformist-conformists, which is what Mike essentially was, but really it was one big pile of confusion that I didn't want to stress myself with.

"They hate me alright, but since I'm the only person in this shit-hole even remotely similar to them, they entrusted me to deliver it to Kenny," Mike finished, tapering off at the end.

"So the Goth kids delivered this . . . this thing to Kenny," I repeated shakily, unwrapping the paper from the pendant. "Why me though? Why hand it over to me?"

Mike shrugged. "Those were my orders, but best guess is they've noticed how close you two are behind closed doors." He waggled his pierced eyebrows. I flushed and took a step back, shaking my head.

"We just talk to each other, that's all," I corrected, averting my gaze.

"Sure, and you're the only one that visits him when he's dead," Mike added quietly, peeling himself away from the bathroom wall. I had to admit, that hit me pretty hard. So the Goth kids noticed that, or had Mike?

"You know its affiliation, right?" Mike pressed, his eyes narrowing and his grin spreading. I looked up at him and furrowed my brow, pressing my lips into a straight line.

"I think I do," I breathed, trying not to stutter on my words. "It involves the devil, right?"

Mike nodded. "It's called the Sigil of Baphomet."

Somehow, I knew the rest of what he was going to say wasn't going to sit well with me, but still, I continued to listen.

"That thing you're holding," he continued, smiling at me wickedly. "Is the symbol of the Church of Satan."

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**A/N: Don't take this seriously, kiddos, because Matt and Trey don't even take the Devil seriously. D:**

**Review?**


	4. Explanations

**A/N: Enjoy.**

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**Title: Dancing With the Dead**

**Genre: Horror/Romance**

**Rating: T (will go up later for gore and other stufffffff)**

**Summary: Butters notices that Kenny's life has been getting increasingly shorter. And then one day he dies again. However this time, Kenny doesn't come back alive. He comes back as the undead, a walking corpse -- a zombie. zombie!Kenny x Butters**

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**Explanations.**

I stood in front of the school grounds, back pressed against the gates as my bag hung limply from my arm. A few students exited the campus, or what remained of them, because school had let out some 30 minutes ago and I was still stuck here, eyes plastered open as I stared into acute nothingness. Sure, I could see things plenty, like Mrs. Garrison who was busy fiddling with her keys and trying to get the door open to her 2008 Honda Accord. She had transferred over to South Park High two years ago, much to the chagrin of the students, and had managed to distinguish herself as an Anatomy teacher – heck, who would've known.

Still, the covert conversation I had with Mike back in the bathroom was still replaying over and over in my mind and I was starting to believe I would worry over it for the rest of the day.

"_Listen, I'll tell you something," Mike had whispered, taking a few steps towards me. When he was close enough to stand about a foot away from me, I could take in the harsh smell of smoke that clung to his skin and his clothes. "About Kenny."_

_Subconsciously I had leaned in closer, eager to hear what he had to tell me. "What?"_

"_Before he died," he started, his tongue moving languidly. I caught site of a tongue piercing as he moved his lips. "Kenny was messing with some serious shit." Mike motioned for the pendant with his eyes, lookin_g _back at me knowingly. He continued, "I don't know what exactly, but that's what I've heard."_

After that, Mike had simply dismissed himself, leaving me hanging on that note. And here I was, standing languidly like a zombie in front of the school, too dazed to move or even think about anything else beside Kenny . . . and that pendant. What could Kenny have wanted with it anyway? I shivered as goosebumps trailed a path up my arm and across the base of my neck. Did Kenny really mess with this sort of stuff on his free time, because I would never have guessed he was the type to meddle with such a delicate topic. And if he did, he must have had some good reason behind it, right? Kenny didn't do things without purpose, even if it was on a whim.

I began walking, my eyes cast to the ground as my body led me away to no particular destination. I couldn't fathom the idea of Kenny practicing stuff like that, not because it irked me religiously or anything like that, but simply because the topic kind of scared me to death. The Devil was real, that much I knew, and even though the resident's of South Park hadn't heard from him in a while since that last Halloween Party he threw, he was most definitely up to something down in that pit of his. I sighed to myself, a breathy sigh, and hung my head.

"Kenny, what did you do?"

* * *

It was no surprise that my feet had led me here. As I neared the cemetery, my heart began to palpitate at an accelerated speed, nearly bursting out the confines of my chest cavity. Entering through the main gate, I dragged my feet lifelessly across the gaveled lane, the bottoms of my shoes scraping against pebbles of various sizes and tiny rocks digging into the molded rubber of my soles. As I neared Kenny's grave, I found that the entire length of it was covered with the most healthy looking grass I'd ever seen. Luckily, there was a grounds keeper busy pruning the grave next to Kenny's. I walked up to him then, an aging man of around 50 or so who was quite portly, and nudged him along the shoulder.

"Excuse me," I began, letting a smile adorn my lips. The man turned at me, a smile also gracing his withered face. He had a trucker's hat placed atop his head, which he tipped with one of his gloved hands.

"Hola, need anything?" he greeted kindly.

"Oh, not really, I just wanted to ask something," I replied, stepping around the foreign grave so that he didn't have to turn his body while speaking to me. I pointed over to Kenny's grave, the man following my finger until his own eyes rested on the grave site. "Have you or any of the other grounds keepers been tending that grave?"

"Lo siento, but I'm the only grounds keeper that works here," the man regretfully answered. "And no, I haven't been to that grave. Would you like me to the trim the grass though?"

Mentally, I was shaken and hopefully the old man wouldn't notice my cause of distress. I humbly thanked him for his time and stepped away from him. I then stalked over to Kenny's grave and sat down next to it, running the palm of my hand over the bed of grass. So, I had also learned that Kenny's grave, a grave that always looked dead and dried up and never sported grass healthy enough to run your hand over, hadn't even been tended to. And since there was only one grounds keeper on the premise (and no one else cared enough to visit Kenny while he was dead), I really didn't have anywhere else to turn to.

The events that happened earlier in the day suddenly flitted past my already muddled mind and I took no time in quickly unlatching my bag and withdrawing the Sigil of Baphomet from its contents. It was still wrapped loosely in notebook paper, completely concealing it from view. I then set it down beside me and anchored my eyes on his grave site. The flowers were still there, now withered and aging as pedals littered the grassy earth beneath it.

"What were you doing with this thing?" I hissed at him, leaning close so that the grounds keeper wouldn't overhear me conversing with a dead guy. I don't know why I felt so frustrated and choleric about the whole situation, but I figured the reason why I was so unsettled by it all was because it was a side of Kenny I didn't know, or that he was doing something very suspicious behind everybody's backs.

"What do you gain from messing with this stuff, huh? Now's there's going to be rumor's spreadin' 'round the school of you being a Satanist or something. Oh hamburgers. . ."

I picked up the Sigil-thing and carefully unwrapped the paper, trying my best to hide it from view. I stared at the intricate design of the goat insignia at the center of the star, turning it over in slight apprehension.

And then I felt it.

"Argh!" I screamed, an intense searing pain shooting from the pads of my fingers all the way up the length of my arm. I dropped the pendant with a start, where it rocketed to the ground at lightning speed and hit the earth with a dull thud. I watched it apprehensively as it landed next to my Origami-dollar, which still happened to be planted at the head of Kenny's grave. I shot a quick glance behind me, thankful that the grounds keeper had already left and was busy tending another grave some distance away from here.

"_Ah, I see you've brought it, little one._"

I immediately jerked my head up and let out a futile gasp, staring up into frightening vermilion colored eyes. I shuffled away from the stranger, the palms of my hands grinding against the earth as I tried to make a sketchy escape.

The boy, or should I say teen, pressed a pale hand to his hip, black-coated fingernails tapping along the studded belt dangling loosely from his jeans. He was a tall one, this guy, and was dressed in nothing but black, complete with a jagged mop of cobalt hair that framed his face and dangled into fine-cut tips along the length of his neck. Piercings adorned his face, two situated on the opposite corners of his mouth while one was pierced into the top of his brow. He grinned at me, sharp teeth gnashing together in disdain.

"W-who are you?" I stuttered, my voice hoarse and raspy. He tilted his head, jagged-edged bangs brushing across his forehead.

"_First off, are you Butters?_" he interjected, taking a small step towards me.

"Um, yeah," I answered softly, looking away. His eyes, so red they resembled blood, were so unnerving that they were starting to make me feel a bit nauseous.

"_Hm, you haven't changed much_," he stated, his tone patronizing.

"Who are you?" I asked again, more louder and clear this time. I furrowed my brow when I heard him chuckle – obviously he wasn't taking me seriously, and for some reason that daunted me – strange, because no one ever took me seriously and it never bothered me none.

"_Alright, shit, I'll sate you for now,_" he chuckled. He took another step closer to me before he dropped to the ground and crossed his jean-clad legs. "_I'm Damien._"

My eyes widened as my mouth fell agape, my mind swirling in re-discovery. Was this really Damien, the Damien from elementary school – the Son of Satan himself?!

"_You remember, good_," he chided, setting his pale hands in his lap. "_Now that we've got the introductions out of the way, let's get down to business. Hand me the Sigil._"

Instinctively, I clutched the pendant to my chest, feeling a surging sense of protection flow through my veins. I didn't know how or why I felt that way, but I knew I wasn't going to hand this thing up so easily, not if it was meant for Kenny.

"No," I bit out, wrapping my fingers tightly around the Sigil. "It's not yours, it's for Kenny."

Damien's eyes narrowed into slits, a grin scrawling across his lips. "_On the contrary, it's mine. Now give it to me._"

"Y-yours?!" I asked, bewildered. "B-but, but why would Kenny need it? I -- ."

"_Okay, you know what?_" Damien cut in, pointed teeth glinting in the sunlight. "_Let's get our shit straight first, got that? That pendant belongs to me, I was simply loaning it to Kenny._"

"But why would he need it in the first place?" I countered desperately, starting to get frustrated. This wasn't making any sense, not like it didn't make sense in the first place. First I find out that Kenny's been dipping into Satanic stuff and now I find he's been consorting with the Son of Satan! This was too much to handle, even for me.

"_I won't tell you the reasons, you'll find out sooner or later,_" Damien explained. He outstretched his arm and showed me the palm of his hand, motioning for the pendant. I shook my head at him, clutching the Sigil tighter to my chest. Even if he said it belonged to him, I still didn't know what his intentions were or what he was actually going to do with it. It was perfectly logical to think that way too, since he was the Son of Satan and all.

"W-what are you going to do with it? And why do I even have it anyway?" I asked curtly, defiance slowly swirling at the pit of my stomach. I watched him sigh and hunch his shoulders, his hand mounting under his chin while he tapped his fingers along his jawline. He looked irritated and slightly peeved and it probably had to due with my constant questioning and beating around the bush, but hey, I had to do what I could to stall him.

"_If you give me the Sigil, I'll tell you. And as to why you have it: Kenny's orders,_" Damien drawled on, rolling his eyes for effect. "_Now give me the Sigil or you're going to get fucked._"

Despite his threat, I managed to gulp away my initial dread and pull a strong front, no matter how weak it felt. When he sensed that I wasn't going to give the Sigil up, he sighed once more and leaned forward, his face inches away from mine. He lifted up one of his hands and brought his fingers to my face, and with a quick snap, the pendant poofed from out of my hand into his awaiting one. I gawked at him in awe, fright clinging to me like a set of tightly wound blankets. If he could do that, he could definitely do worse.

"_Don't look at me like that, I'm not all bad,_" he whispered, danging the Sigil in front of me. He backed away from me then, stringing the Sigil's beaded string through the web of his fingers. "_I'll ask you this: do you know what Kenny does when he's dead?_"

I shook my head at him furiously, protest on the tip of my tongue. "How can I?! He's dead!"

"_Well do you at least no where he goes once he dies?_" he quipped, still threading the Sigil's beads through his fingers. I stalled at that, my entire body clamming up like an oyster. I never liked to think of where Kenny was sent off to after he died, I was too afraid to know the answer. I would have liked to think he went to Heaven or something, or if not, somewhere nice, safe and tranquil, but that was wishful thinking, wasn't it?

"_He goes to Hell, Butters,_" Damien answered himself, his face sobering. "_He always goes to Hell. But don't get your hopes down – he's one of the few that we don't torture._"

I looked up at him, vexation and apprehension spelling out the turmoil of emotions raging inside me. "W-why?"

"_He does a lot of shit for us, important shit,_" Damien answered slyly, a smile on his face. "_Sometimes we want to keep him there – it's a shame when he comes back to life. It's only fair that I at least do him a favor, right?_"

Sensing the question on my tongue, Damien quickly continued on, "_Yeah, a favor; he asked me the last time he died._" He leaned in close, clutching the Sigil in his palm. "_He doesn't want to die anymore, you're friend. So he asked me if there was any way to fix that problem. Naturally, being the most shit-tastic person I am, I told him I could do anything and everything. But when he told me what he wanted . . . it was out of my power. You can't fuck with the laws of Death, even I know that._"

I nodded at him, completely engrossed in what he was telling me. It was like a story, a very intense and personal one, but I think what intrigued me most about it was because it was about Kenny.

"_However, being the Son of Satan does have its perks,_" he continued, his eyes narrowing and his grin growing wider. "_Here's your answer Butters, so you better listen up: Dead, yet alive._"

Damien chuckled sardonically, twirling the Sigil around his index finger. I watched as he stood up, completely bemused at the last part of his tale. I didn't know what it quite meant, but I figured I'd know pretty soon. He then walked over to Kenny's grave, halting at the head of it as he stared down. I saw him smile, where he then unlooped the Sigil from around his hand and left it hovering over the grave site.

"_This is for you, my friend. You asked for it, and now I'm giving it,_" Damien whispered, and with that, he let the Sigil fall. I was excepting it to crash to the earth and perhaps roll away into the grass, but it didn't work that way. With my eyes quivering in fear and astonishment, I watched as the Sigil was completely engulfed by the earth, disappearing into the grass so quickly that the next time I blinked, it had completely vanished. Damien turned around, amused at my expression, but he made no act to comment. He began walking then, his back turned at me. I quickly sprang up from the ground and looked after him, my mind still muddled and swirling with so many questions.

"Why tell me all of this?" I called after him, hands to my chest. He didn't turn around, but merely answered, "_Because he wanted it._"

"W-where are you going?" I shouted again while watching his figure retreat into the distance. Damien turned around then, a genuine smile gracing his pierced lips.

"_To visit an old friend. I want to apologize for blowing him up._"

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**A:N: Please review and I'll love you forever.**


	5. Creeper

**A/N: It starts here. Review!**

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**Creeper.**

Three hours had passed and I still remained in the cemetery, body bent over Kenny's grave. I tilted my head and furrowed my brow, eyes thoroughly scanning the area were the Sigil had previously vanished into.

"Gee, I don't know what he did to you Kenny," I spoke softly, trailing the pads of my fingers over the Origami-dollar that sat entangled in a dense mound of stocky grass. "But hopefully it wasn't anything bad." I leaned back on the balls of my heels and looked up into the sky where an unexpected horde of gray clouds were strewn across like sloppy paint splatters. I sighed and looked back down, reaching for my book-bag where I hooked it around my shoulder and made to leave.

"I'll see you later Kenny," I whispered into the wind, leaning over one more time and brushing the palm of my hand across the grave site. A few clods of dirt stuck to my fingers and I quickly shook my hand to pry them off. "Maybe tomorrow, yeah -- ?"

I instantly stilled, the hairs lining the length of my arm standing on end. I looked down at my hand, which was still pressed against the grassy earth of Kenny's grave and widened my eyes, mind reeling. I could have sworn I felt a bump come from beneath the earth . . . I shook my head, strands of pale blond hair feathering across my forehead. It was a silly thought, how could there be bumps resonating from the -- ?

And there it was again. However, this time the bump was more like a firm and heavy thump, sending vibrations shooting from my spread fingers all the way up my arm where it ended at the dip between my collar bone and neck. I shivered momentarily, the cold wind biting at the exposed nape of my neck, all the while wondering what was causing the strange vibrations. And better yet, why they were coming from beneath Kenny's grave?

More spooked out than I would have liked to be, I hastily scrambled up from the ground and dusted myself off, still staring down at the grave with quivering eyes. I had a strange feeling that Damien must have done something to the grave – something weird, something bad.

'_It's giving me the skeevies,_' I thought morosely to myself, rubbing the sides of my arms. I looked down at the grave one last time and turned my body 'round, making for a hasty retreat off cemetery grounds.

While passing through and out the main gate, I couldn't help but feel absolutely dreadful.

I lay awake that night, my lean body strewn over the pile of blankets that adorned my rather

large bed. I stared up at the ceiling, twirling my finger about the air as I imagined myself up on

that spiked ceiling again, making my way through a sea of white tipped-peaks. After being grounded by my dad for being late, I had quietly stalked my way upstairs and headed for my room, where I then threw my book-bag across the room and dumped myself on the bed.

I felt like thinking, the type of thinking only bright and intelligent people did (much like Kyle), but how was I supposed to do that if I couldn't come up with anything to think of? I was at a loss for a train of thought at the moment, and if I didn't hurry up and catch it soon, I was going to be lucked out. What was I supposed to think? All of this -- Damien and Satan and Kenny, what was I supposed to make of it? It was like putting together a blank puzzle – I didn't know where to put the pieces, even though they obviously fit somewhere.

I needed to talk to Damien again. I sat up from my bed and crossed my legs, hunching my shoulders as my thoughts suddenly started to flood back into my memory. I really did need to get in contact with Damien; I needed to ask him a crap-load of things and he's the only one who could possibly answer them. What had he done back there at Kenny's grave? Why was he even there in the first place? I knew that he had to repay a favor of some sort to Kenny, but what kind of favor was it? All this Satanic stuff was starting to mess with my mind and I found that I didn't quite like it – it spooked me and gave me a raging case of the skeevies.

One question snagged at me though: how would one go about contacting the Son of Satan?

Shaking my head, I looked over at my book-bag and tried to gain back a sense of logic and routine. I think I had homework to complete for two of my classes, but as of now I was too tired and lacked the motivation to actually start it. I slowly got up from my bed and shuffled over to the light switch by my bedroom door and flicked it down. I then went back to my bed and lied back down, resting my head on a nearby pillow and twisting and flopping my body around the blankets until I finally lay situated beneath them.

"I'll start it during first period," I yawned to myself. Rubbing my cheek against the soft cushion of my pillow, I flitted my eyes and laid them to rest, sleep finally falling over me like a gentle wave.

* * *

_Scrape. Scrape._

I burrowed my head underneath my pillow, willing for the small and grating sound to go away. The heavy blankets strewn about my body were heavy and hot and I began to kick my legs in a futile attempt to get them off, but to no avail – they were too tightly wound.

_Scrape. Scrape. Scrape._

'_Please just go away, darn sound,_' I thought to myself, grounding my face into the soft surface of my mattress. I was too tired and lethargic to see to the strange sound and I really didn't feel like getting up from the safe haven of my bed to check it out. Hopefully, it would just poof away and leave me to my much needed sleep.

_Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Scraaaaape._

"Gosh darnit!" I hissed under my breath, willing my eyes open. I managed to crack one eye open, blurriness meeting my usually impeccable vision. I rubbed at the corners of my eyes then, wiping out the crud and gunk that had managed to collect there throughout my slumber. Removing the pillow from my head, I pushed myself up with my hands and sat up, my body still loose and laggard from sleep. I felt weak and groggy and I couldn't quite form my hands into fists yet – it usually took a couple of seconds for me to regain my strength, or what little strength I had. I threw my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare toes wriggling from the sudden burst of cold air that sifted through them.

Funny. I don't think I left the window open.

However, when I turned my head to the side and saw that the window was indeed open, a pang of terror quickly washed over me for the briefest of seconds. I don't know why I felt that way since there was no logical reason to be frightened over having a window cracked open, but what scared me was that I don't remember it being open before I fell asleep, unless one of my parents came up and did it, but neither of them ever came up to my room to begin with.

I shrugged my shoulders in an attempt to quell the rising anxiety within me, but it really did nothing to help. I felt on guard, as if I should be prepared for something, however that certain something was unknown to me. I got up from the bed, my toes digging into the carpeted floor while I shuffled my way slowly towards the window. Really, why would the window be open? It wasn't even hot or humid, a bit cold actually, so why would my parents crack it open? If they even did it, that is.

I halted in my footsteps, common sense leaking into me like grimy flood water. This wasn't some horror movie, I wasn't going to be the idiot fool who goes to investigate and in the end winds up dead, like the typical comic-relief character in every B-rated horror film. I knew better than them; like heck was I going over to that window! But what if there was someone out there, like a burglar ready to ransack my house or a serial killer ready to hack my family to bits! I was starting to scare myself, the tell-tale signs of fright decorating my body like chicken pox: I was shivering and shaking and the goosebumps along my arms didn't qualm the obvious peril I was getting myself into.

'_Maybe I should just go downstairs or something, watch some TV,_' I thought to myself, relief suddenly washing over me. '_I'll lock myself out of my room and pick-lock it later._' It was an okay idea, something that I'd go along with just to sate myself to feel somewhat at ease, but all of that and my newly obtained relief drained out of me so fast I nearly lost my balance. I squinted my eyes and looked across at the window, where some small object was sitting right outside the window sill. I took a step closer, trying to make the object out through the dark, but my vision was still a bit fuzzy from sleep and the dark didn't make it any better.

I wasn't going to lie, but my curiosity was definitely perked. I mean, there was something outside my window, who wouldn't want to know what it was? I took small baby steps towards the window, the outline of the object getting more clear and sharp every step that I took. Finally, at least a foot away from the window, I could make out what it was. It was green in color and its shape was rectangular. It had the texture of paper, a sturdy looking paper, the kind of paper you would use to . . .

. . . make an Origami-dollar with.

You don't know how badly that scared me. An overwhelming sense of fright rammed into me like a speeding freight train, momentarily knocking the air out of me and sending me sputtering backwards. My eyes were widened generously and my legs felt numb, the kind of numbness that gradually turned into pain and traveled all the way up your body, usually the common symptoms of a high adrenaline rush and being scared out of your wits.

What was it doing there?! I don't remember ever bringing it with me from the grave site, scratch that, I knew I didn't bring it with me; I would remember something like that! Why would I even remove it anyway? I had made it for Kenny and it was going to stay with him, no matter if he was dead and buried under six feet of dirt and grass. Right now, there were two questions that definitely needed to be answered:

Why was it here, and _**who**_ brought it here?

"I need to get it before it blows away," I whispered to myself, my fingers gripping at the hem of my shirt. I suddenly realized that I was still in my school clothes and hadn't changed before I decided to take a nap. "I'll just open the window real quick and snatch it."

I closed the distance between the window and I and stopped directly in front of it, eyes ghosting over a thin layer of ice caked onto the glass. Rivulets of water made miniature pathways down the length of the glass, where they pooled and made small puddles on the sill. Sucking in a deep breath and momentarily suspending my terror, I hooked my fingers under the window frame and slid it up, a small squeaking noise resounding from my ministrations. I quickly shot my hand out and snaked my fingers over the Origami-dollar, cupping it to my palm and hastily slapping it to my chest. With one breathy sigh, I fluttered my eyes close and let out the breath I had been holding. A watery smiled formed across my lips as I realized how utterly silly I was being, come on, like there was something out there. It was that kind of thinking that turned good, modest people into acting like Tweek Tweak.

I stared down at the Origami-dollar, now caked with smudges of dirt and . . . wait, what the heck was that stuff? I brought the folds of paper closer to my face for further inspection and ran my eyes across its rectangular surface, noticing blotches of some unknown fluid. It was a strange color, a mixture between a briny black and a pasty pink, something that didn't look or even smell right.

'_This thing reeks!_' I thought to myself, letting the Origami fall to the floor. It tumbled across the carpet where it skidded underneath my bed. Wriggling my nose in disgust, I rubbed my fingers along my pants, trying to rid myself of the stench. It had smelled musty and sour, as if it'd been stuck rotting somewhere. My window was still propped open and I trotted over towards it and made to shut it, but stopped. I squatted down and peered through the opening, eyes widening as I saw . . . fingers?

"What the heck!" I hissed, nearly throwing myself over the window. This wasn't happening, but there they were, clear as day or in this case, night. I stuck my head further out the window, my body leaning over the sill. There were four fingers gouging into the porch roof, seemingly hanging off the edge. From my angle on the second story, I couldn't see the body or hand attached to the fingers, just those four digits gripping onto the edge of the porch roof in a vice-like grip. I quickly yanked myself back inside, accidentally banging the back of my head on the window frame. Wincing and rubbing small circles on the back of my head, I paced about my room with my hands in my hair, trying to settle my thoughts and decide on a course of action.

"Oh man, oh man, oh man!" I muttered, raking my fingernails across my scalp. What was I supposed to do? There was someone dangling from the edge of my roof and I didn't know who that person might be! What if it really was a burglar or a murderer? What if they had really tried to get my window open to kill me while I was sleeping? I quickly shot towards the window again and stuck myself out – the fingers were still there, unmoving and eerily still. I could see the frost of my breath tumble out my mouth in icy plumes, seeping and dissolving into the air. I was breathing hard.

What if it was someone I knew hanging on out there? What if it was a classmate of mine trying to reach me? I don't know why they'd try to contact me via the roof at practically 2:00 in the morning, but it was probable right?

I gulped, dreading what my mind was thinking up of next. I didn't want to, but it felt like I had to. I had to see who was down there, it's not like I could sleep otherwise knowing that there was someone hanging from the front of my house. With the lights still off, I felt around the room for my shoes, finally managing to kick them on. My toes felt clammy and numb rubbing against the rubbery inside of my shoes, but that's what happened when you didn't bother putting socks on. I then went over to the window and slid it up far enough for my body to fit through it. Cold air brushed past my face and stung at my eyes, but the biting chill was far from my mind. My eyes were trained solely on the fingers situated further down the slope of the roof. I brought my legs over the window sill and managed to plant them firmly along the roof shingles, the soles of my shoes sliding across its surface. I had to be extremely careful treading here, any wrong move and I could wind up flat on my back hyperventilating on the ground.

I carefully made my way down the slope of the roof, hooking my fingers under random shingles and pasting the bottoms of my shoes flat against the surface. It was risky business, since the roof shingles were wet and covered with melting sheets of ice and my fingers would occasionally slip and cause me to lose my balance, but I managed to get along fine enough. At least I wasn't paralyzed on the ground below.

Soon enough, and I dreaded to realize the offending digits were still there, I was but a mere foot away from them. It was too dark for me to list any concrete details about them, but even without any light too see them properly, I could figure out that something was wrong with them. They didn't look normal.

"Ah!" I cried when my foot slipped from under me. I landed hard on my back as ice water seeped into my clothes, the undersides of my hand sliding over the shingles in a desperate attempt to stop myself from sliding off the roof entirely. I stilled when I felt something settle on the front of my hand. Gulping, I slowly tilted my head and looked down at it, disgust hurdling through me as I realized what had landed there.

It was a whole fingernail. It was coated in that briny black and pink stuff, but this time most of it was situated on the underside of the nail, where clumps of skin tissue stuck to it like remnants of a spider web.

"Ahh!" I screamed, flicking the nail off me. I snapped my hand towards me and rubbed it frantically across my jeans, my skin crawling and tingling with revolt. To my horror, it didn't stop there. There were four distinct trails of that pinkish fluid leading all the way from my window, as if someone had slipped and raked their nails all the way down the surface of the roof. Nausea bubbling in the pit of my stomach, I looked back at the fingernail I had haplessly flicked away, finally connecting two and two together. "Oh hamburgers, that's sick."

That meant the person hanging from the front of my house had practically ripped their nails off in an attempt to save themselves. To further prove my point, I whipped my head around and stared down at the digits still clasped there, studying them acutely. A cloud from up above shifted across the sky and a beam of the moon's light anchored down and illuminated the area where the fingers were, further exposing every gruesome detail. The fingers were tinted a scrawly gray color and there were many deep discolored gashes littering the lengths of the fingers, some even running as deep to expose bone. And as I trailed my unsteady gaze to the fingernails . . . oh the fingernails. There was only one left, and it was barely hanging on by a tendril of skin tissue.

"Are you alright?" I called out, sliding my way further down. There was no answer from the person below, hopefully there was a body attached to these fingers, and the eerie silence was starting to make me panic. I still couldn't see who it was dangling there from the roof and I had to admit I was still too frightened to even look over the edge. I was afraid that I might see something unsettling, more than unsettling. With one final ounce of courage, the only ounce of courage I had pent up, I managed to lean my body towards the edge and look over.

My heart stopped. Maybe it didn't, but it sure felt like it did. I felt sick to my stomach, as if my insides were twisting and churning and melting everything down into a muddy and murky soup. I wanted to throw up, both in disgust and bewilderment or even a mixture of the two, and I couldn't stop the tears that welled up in the corners of my eyes. I wiped them away, realizing that now was not the time to weep.

"Kenny!" I yelled and quickly dove for his fingers, unclipping them from their iron grasp around the edge of the roof. I grabbed a firm hold of his wrist then, the adrenaline rushing through my veins and giving me minute bursts of strength.

Kenny was here. Kenny was dangling from my roof. He was back! He was back!

I pulled at his wrist, trying with all my might to haul him up onto the roof, and I would have succeeded in doing so.

If his wrist hadn't snapped off.

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**A/N: I got the term "skeevies" from _The Lovely Bones, _since I had never heard it said before. I figured it was something Butters would say.**


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